I Don't Even Know the Guy!
by DarkForbidden-Love
Summary: Mycroft invited DI Lestrade to the Scotland Yard Masquerade ball under the guise of keeping an eye on Sherlock and John. It take Lestrade a while to catch on that he is Mycroft's 'date'. Mystrade
1. Chapter 1

Since Mystradedoodles is being so patient with my lack of pronunciation and speed reading I'm going to give her a fic. It is Mystrade, if this isn't your cup of tea, please don't read. Thank you. Also I am obviously not Moffat; therefore I don't own Sherlock BBC.

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Silence would be unnerving if it was any other flat. Lestrade was perfectly used to returning to a cold, empty, and most importantly silent flat every day after work. But today he paused at the doorway and listened. Someone was in his flat. Lestrade was able to quickly deduce that whoever was in his flat was both familiar with the layout and not going anywhere fast. Making tea and coffee was also not in a typical house breakers itinerary, which pretty much left Sherlock as the one to infringe on his flat.

Lestrade opened the door, not caring to be quiet. If it was Sherlock he had already knew that Lestrade was home and if it was not...well, Lestrade still had his gun on his person. Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw when he walked into the sitting room of his flat. A man Lestrade was familiar with in the most professional of ways, Mycroft Holmes- brother of Sherlock Holmes and the unofficial British Government.

"To what do I owe this pleasure?" Lestrade asked pleasantly as though his personal area had not been infringed upon by the aloof older Holmes brother.

Mycroft gestured to the chair across from where he was sitting but Lestrade shook his head. "I'm here to cordially invite you to the annual Scotland Yard Masquerade Ball."

Lestrade stared at him and Mycroft met his gaze. Lestrade broke the silence with a single, "What?" He was slightly confused and off kilter. First Mycroft Holmes, the British Government had made tea and was sitting in his sitting room and second Mr. Holmes was inviting him to the Masquerade ball which in Lestrade's 30 years on the force he had never attended despite the many times he had been asked.

Mycroft subtly shifted his umbrella and repeated, "I have been asked to extend an invitation to you for the annual Scotland Yard Masquerade."

"I heard that." Lestrade said with a sigh, "But why?"

"Because that is what I was asked to do." Mycroft said with an air that clearly stated that he had not been asked.

Lestrade cracked a smile, "Mr. Holmes, you are well aware that I have never attended the ball for then entity of my employment on the force." It should have been a question, but it was not.

"Yes," Mycroft replied a bit bluntly, "but I need someone to help me keep an eye on my brother."

Lestrade paled, "Sherlock will be there?" That was asking for disaster especially since Anderson and Donovan always attended.

"With John," Mycroft explained. "John was the one convinced him to do so."

Lestrade groaned, "I will be there, simply to play damage control."

"Excellent," Mycroft said sounding pleased, before standing up. He walked over to Lestrade and handed him a business card. "Call this man and give him your size. You will be attending as my date and he already knows what my outfit is. He will be able to pick out a matched outfit." With that Mycroft swept out of Lestrade's flat leaving a stunned Detective Inspector in his wake.

"I think I missed something." He murmured to himself before burying his face in his hands and heading to bed, hoping it would all make more sense in the morning


	2. Chapter 2

A continuation of This fic.

I'm still not Moffat, one guess on what I still don't own. I also apologize from my blatant Americanisms.

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The next morning revealed nothing, except the fact that Greg had not cleaned his flat in at least a month or two. He ignored the unusual amount of filth in his flat and made himself a cup of coffee. Coffee made everything better, even if it did not solve his Holmes' shaped crisis. Five minutes later the DI was more alert and aware that if he left now, he would still be 5 minutes late to work. A few curses escaped his lips and Greg threw on a jacket, not bothering to change. He did apply enough deodorant to hide his uncouth smell.

Greg stumbled out into the freezing London air and sighed upon noticing it was drizzling. Nothing better to start off his day with then rain, right? Greg wrapped his jacket firmly around his frame and took off running. No use trying to catch a cab where he lived, it would just waste more time than it would save. He was therefore very surprised when shortly after he left the flat he noticed a cab, apparently waiting for its next fare. Quickly checking his gun because after the case where the cabbie was their murderer Greg had adopted the habit of not trusting the cabbies.

Greg knocked on the window and it rolled down, "Where ta?" The cabbie asked in a heavy accent that Greg was unable to place.

"Scotland Yard." Greg responded and watched in fascination as the cabbie's eyes went wide.

"Copper, eh?" The cabbie asked, "Get in, ride is free for ya. Keeping the pretty lady's streets clean." Lestrade was instantly on guard, cabbies did not normally just offer rides. As though sensing his distrust and unease the cabbie smiled and offered a grubby hand through the window. Inside the hand was a warrant card, crinkled and worn but unmistakable. Greg gave a longsuffering sigh and drew his gun.

"Out of the car." Lestrade commanded and the cabbie scrambled out of the car. The cabbie had his hands above his hands and Lestrade had him cuffed before he could even run. The cabbie apparently thought that Lestrade would stop thinking him to be a threat when cuffed, within seconds Lestrade had the cabbie on the ground, out cold.

Lestrade still had his gun pointed at the prone form of the cabbie, all too aware that the man could be faking it, he dug out his cellular phone from his pocket and called his own desk, "Hello, this is Detective Inspector Lestrade." He greeted when the phone was picked up.

"Sir?" A voice Lestrade recognized as Donovan answered.

"I'd like to report an attempted kidnapping and assault on a police officer." He said calmly still eying the prone man from the corner of his eye.

There was an unmistakable sputter from the other side of the phone, "Are you alright, sir?" Donovan asked.

"Fine," Lestrade responded, "well, except for being soaked to the bloody bone. Would you just send someone? I can't officially make an arrest, I'm not on duty."

"I…um…give me a sec, sir." Donovan said quickly before static was heard. A few second later she was back, "Sergeant Magritte is on his way, sir, as he is closest to your current location. I have been told to brief you."

"I'm well aware of standard procedure," Lestrade commented dryly, "send an ambulance too." Lestrade added as an almost after thought.

"Sir?" This question was much more worried than the first one.

"Not for me," Lestrade supplied hastily, "for my would be attacker. I think I hit him a bit hard."

There was a pause on the other end of the phone, "The ambulance should arrive soon also, sir. One had already been called along with the police. We had an anonymous tip off about you assault, sir. Sergeants Emory and Penn will be arriving before Magritte." Lestrade could already hear the sirens. He was faintly surprised as he looked around; there was no one in view. That did not exactly comfort him since it meant he was being watched. Even if it was by friendly eyes, Lestrade did not care for his personal life being intruded upon.

"Thank you, Donovan. Care to explain why I'll be late to the Commissioner?" Lestrade asked already aware of this answer.

A sharp breath from the other end of the phone, "No need to sir, he already is aware of the situation. He says you will not be reprimanded for being later."

"Thank you, Donovan." Lestrade replied before hanging up and groaning. Why did this only happen to him? He supposed it was something that came with putting up with the younger Holmes, Lestrade had yet to figure out if that was a good thing or not.


End file.
